POEMS OF THE WAR. OUR COUNTRY. ON primal rocks she wrote her name, The golden seed that bore her came Swift-winged with prayer o'er ocean waves. The Forest bowed his solemn crest, Meek Rivers led the appointed Guest To clasp the wide-embracing shores; 9 Till, fold by fold, the broidered Land O Exile of the wrath of Kings! The refuge of divinest things, Their record must abide in thee. First in the glories of thy front Let Justice with the faultless scales So link thy ways to those of God, So follow firm the heavenly laws, That stars may greet thee, warrior-browed, And storm-sped angels hail thy cause. |